


The End (Of The Lonely Road) Approaches

by anistarrose



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fanwork of Fanwork, Gen, WhatWouldTeslaDo, as concerning as that last tag is, i promise that this fic is actually my coping mechanism, rated T for swearing and for being a part of a generally angsty AU, to convince myself everything will be okay, warning for minor (but scary) car accidents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anistarrose/pseuds/anistarrose
Summary: The drive from New Mexico to Oregon is long and snowy, and Stan can’t help but be distracted by his own thoughts about how much his twin has changed.Based off the Paranoid Ford ask blogwhatwouldteslado.





	The End (Of The Lonely Road) Approaches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fordanoia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fordanoia/gifts).



> I can't recommend WhatWouldTeslaDo strongly enough, but you can read this without having read that blog. All you need to know is that it's a canon divergence AU where Ford:
> 
> 1\. dismantles the portal
> 
> 2\. _calls_ Stan to ask him to come, and warns him to watch out for people with yellow eyes.

It didn’t take long for the mild New Mexico winter to vanish and snow to coat the roads, forcing Stan to slow down. Which was probably what he deserved for deciding to drive through freaking _Colorado_ instead of Arizona, but the route had looked just a little shorter that way, and he didn’t want to try and take any shortcuts on local roads and risk getting lost.

And, well, _excuse him_ for not thinking too clearly when his twin brother was four states away and rambling about people with glowing yellow eyes that were out to get both of them. 

Stan still didn’t know what to think of that phone call. How the hell _were_ you supposed to respond to your estranged twin calling you, all paranoid and incoherent, and begging you drive hundreds of miles to meet them?

Stan just knew that if he’d said no, or just pretended it hadn’t happened, he’d never be able to stop worrying. If he left Ford to fend for himself, he’d live in fear of the phone ringing again, this time with a message that his brother had gone missing — or worse.

 _Probably_ worse. What had Ford said, that he’d “already been in town for too long?” That Stan couldn’t trust _anyone_? Was Ford even interacting with any living, normal people who might notice he was missing and report it?

 _So really_ , Stan thought grimly, _if they were going to call me about something happening to him, it would be because they found a body_.

And that was when it sunk in — how little Stan really knew his twin, how little he could wrap his mind around the idea of the brother he knew getting murdered in some crazy hick town in Oregon.

Gone was the boy who was only paranoid about elaborate, distant government cover-ups of UFO crashes, conspiracies that would never make him, or any normal person, worry for their own safety. Gone was the nerdy kid who looked at mystery and secrets and creepy glowing eyes as an adventure, as something to study. Gone was the boy who was fascinated with the weird — replaced by the unstable man who feared it. 

Though still there, for sure, was the genius whose head was always in the clouds, thinking about things most people couldn’t even begin to understand while missing so many warning signs, so many dangers. It was the brother who had always kept him safe that had left.

Without really meaning to, Stan pushed his foot down on the accelerator, desperate to cut down on the length of his trip by even a few minutes — just as he rounded a curve. 

The car began to skid, the brake coming down but failing to accomplish anything besides making a horrible noise that sent Stan into a state of shock.

“ _Fuck_ fuck fuck fuck fuck —”

Stan had skidded plenty of times before, usually while fleeing from people who were thankfully several hundred feet behind him and skidding even worse than he was, and he’d never gone off the road — at least, not so far off that he couldn’t drive right back on and make his escape, dented doors and misaligned wheels be damned. 

But those times had been different, because he’d concentrating as hard as he could on the drive, not lost in thought. He’d been expecting the skid those times, knowing it was a risk he was taking for going as fast as he was, not daydreaming about how in a way _he’d_ abandoned the person that he’d always blamed for abandoning _him_.

This time, Stan hadn’t been prepared for the car to start swerving through the dark, and he jerked the wheel and slammed the brakes on instinct, too panicked to think about what would have the best chance at getting him out of the skid. He barely even processed that he was driving with only one functional headlight, meaning he could _easily_ fly off the edge of a cliff, and not even realize until he was already falling to his death —

Somehow, some combination of instinct and dumb luck eventually guided the car to a stop, and for a moment, Stan just put it in park and sat still, heart pounding.

He didn’t think he’d hit anything, and if he had hit something without noticing it, it probably hadn’t been big enough to cause any damage. But he easily could have died — there could have been another car on the road, he could have gone off a cliff, he could have had a fucking _heart attack_ — and then what would have happened to Ford?

 _He’d probably just think I betrayed him again_ , Stan realized, and while he didn’t want to believe it — wanted to believe Ford would worry for him instead — he knew it was probably true.

He got out and checked the car over. It took a lot longer than it should have, even though he wasn’t very thorough, because he’d never bothered to buy a flashlight to keep in his car and had to resort to using his lighter to see instead. At least the warm orange flame kept his fingers from going numb.

Once he was satisfied, which was probably after about three minutes but felt like about thirty, he got back into the car, and cautiously pulled off the shoulder and onto the road. Everything seemed to be working fine, no misaligned wheels or broken brakes.

“Don’t worry, Stanford,” he whispered. “I’m coming.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is mostly about Stan preparing to reunite with Ford, but also partly about how WWTD may be ending very soon, and oh man, I am not prepared. I'm hoping Stan will be able to do something to help, because damn, does Ford need help...
> 
> Anyways, comments are appreciated as always!


End file.
